


Like Mother, Like Son

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: a certain ability to recognise objects under our noses [8]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam has a heart like his mother’s, and his mother knows her words will break it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Mother, Like Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Treanz (Katty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katty/gifts).



> Written for Kat's prompt, 'Liam, a mother's love', and beta'd by Cass. Thayine is canon, though not book canon - she's one of the children Tammy named as Coram and Rispah's.

            Of all her children, Liam is Thayet’s boy. Of course, the other children are very much hers too: you have only to look at Jasson and Roald’s overblown sense of duty, Vania and Kalasin’s fluid grace, Lianne’s determination to choose her own destiny.

 

            Thayet weighs her paperweight in her hands and thinks of her children. Even though some of them are grown, they all still _need_ her – even now Kalasin writes her long, long letters that have to be answered promptly, or Kally becomes frightened that her family have forgotten her or are in some danger she doesn’t know about; Jasson, well, Jasson’s first knightmaster died, and Jasson will bear the scars of his presumed failure for the rest of his life. Roald frets that he can’t protect Shinko from the exigencies of Tortallan life and culture shock and comes to his mother for advice, Lianne sought her mother’s support in fighting for her right to run hospitals and marry Alan, even Vania relies on her mother to make sure no-one stops her little trips out to the Riders’ barracks.

 

            But although her children all need her, only one of them really listens to her. And that is Liam.

 

            This would seem odd to anyone else, Thayet acknowledges as she lays aside the paperweight and hands over a stack of answers to personal pleas to her secretary. After all, Liam’s the closest thing the Contés have to a bad boy; the flirt and womaniser, the least solemn and obviously dedicated, the least prepared to show filial obedience. It’s generally admitted that he’s a good soldier, but that’s about all that people will say to his credit (or at least, so Lianne tells her mother, with a slight twist to her lip that says _I warned him_ ).

 

            And yet, no matter how little Liam responds to thundering arguments with his father, Thayet’s slightest hint will turn his head and bring him to heel. She can remind him that he answers not only to his father but to his own honour, and, like her and her own father, he cares about his honour significantly more than he does his father’s tender feelings; Jon returns this lack of concern for sensitivities, so they clash frequently and bitterly.

 

            Yes, Liam is his mother’s boy, and Liam is always honourable: he never goes beyond the line of acceptable flirtation with gently-born maidens, betrothed girls and married women, and only seduces the courtesans and flower-girls. He knows the difference, and Thayet knows that. Thayet grew up understanding the exact status and nature of everyone at a court far more complicated than the Tortallan one, and her son has inherited her keen sense of place as well as her honour. He has also inherited her ability to love early on and exclusively, and it is because of that that the interview she prepares for now is going to be so difficult.

 

            Thayet steps into her own private dressing room and chooses a gown without consulting her dresser. It’s an old dress, loose, comfortable and warm; purple faded to lilac, embroidered in grey wool with dancing stars, much less elaborate and much freer than the dress designed for the public gaze she is wearing now, after an hour’s answering letters and three hours’ receiving supplicants. The bone of her bodice digs into her skin, and she winces, and is glad that she at least managed to get the tiara and its sharp combs out of her hair before retiring to write her letters.

 

           Amalie helps her change, and takes away the pinching shoes and heavy jewellery she hates. Thayet changes into simple slippers and replaces her necklace with a small grey string of pearls; Liam has her eye for detail, and she knows he will appreciate the significance of the latter. He had a stage where he followed Lianne everywhere, and Lianne had a stage where she loved to poke through Thayet’s jewellery and be told stories of its personal significance – the one bronze bangle she rescued from her mother’s jewel-casket, the earbobs Alanna bought her as a silent thank-you for not laughing so _very_ much when Alanna had her ears pierced and fainted, or, in this case, the pearls Jon brought her as a first courting gift. These pearls mean love to Thayet, and she hopes that to Liam, they will mean that she understands.

 

            Thayet watches her hands clench on the back of her dressing-table chair, and looks at her face in the mirror. She barely recognises herself. She looks like Lianne at her angriest and most vicious, backed into a corner by her father and desperately determined to fight her way out. Or maybe Lianne looked like her in those tense weeks when Jon refused to see Lianne’s logic simply because it wasn’t his, and Lianne fought him like a wounded wildcat. Maybe Lianne looked like her mother forced into hurting her own child.

 

            It’s not a comfortable thought. If Liam is the only one to have inherited the more painful parts of his mother’s character, he is also the only one Thayet finds strong enough to cope with them. Liam is resilient like her, too. Thayet isn’t afraid, as she was with Kally, that Liam’s fate will break him. Liam is her boy, and he’ll make a life wherever he can find one. Liam is her boy, so he’ll have to.

 

            Thayet forces herself to let go of the chair, and goes to meet her son in his private sitting-room.

 

            She knocks and he opens the door immediately, and Thayet’s breath stops in her throat, because she almost doesn’t recognise Liam. This isn’t the adolescent who came back a hardened, bitterly flippant soldier from the Scanran war; this isn’t the man who spent nine months at the Tyran court and learnt how to be dissolute and extravagant. This is the little boy Thayet remembers, the happy, charming child who adored his more serious sisters and brothers and wasn’t frightened to show it. Liam is happy, happier than he has been since he was a page, and Thayet’s heart is breaking for him, because she knows she must ask him to give up that which makes him happy, and she knows he will listen.

 

            Liam hasn’t noticed the sudden frozen look on her face; he’s too busy talking at her, almost babbling, ushering her into the room where a warm fire burns and refreshments have been set out. His delight has made him considerate: her favourite foods and her preferred kind of tea sit on the small table between two comfortable chairs.

 

            “I thought you might be hungry,” he offers in explanation, “I remember they never give you any food when you’re receiving supplicants,” and sits down in the chair opposite her. His hazel eyes, so like hers, shine with a light that has nothing to do with the fire.

 

            Thayet thanks him, and chooses a small nut-and-honey turnover and a small cup of tea. It’s true that she was hungry, before she came here. Then she saw her son, and the reality of what she must do now punched her in the gut.

 

            She wonders if this is how Jon felt, when he had to forbid Kally her dream. She thinks that she will find it even harder to forgive this blow, and then feels as if she has betrayed her self-sufficient, regal eldest daughter.

 

            For a few moments they stick to small talk, the state of the Great North Road, Kally’s latest news, Lianokami’s first steps, and both of them know that the real topic for discussion is approaching. Finally, Thayet sips at her tea and says: “Tell me about her.”

 

            Liam practically glows. “She’s – she’s amazing, Mother; you’d _love_ her,” he says, and launches into an effusion of praise for Thayine of Trebond. He pronounces her name _Tay-een_ , lilting and sharp the way the northerners do, not _Thy-een_ , as Thayet would have assumed, and speaks of her as if she’s in the next room, as if she’s only just left and he can still feel her presence. Thayine is a better hunter than Liam, because she has more patience and is much better with tracks. Thayine is afraid of nothing, and Thayine understands him when he doesn’t say anything. Thayine was a scout in the Scanran war, and saw battle. Thayine taught him to dance northern reels and sing northern songs and laughed mercilessly at him when he fell over his own feet. Thayine isn’t as clever as Rose or as lovely as Alinna, but she’s kind and welcoming and good at making people talk to her. Vania and Jasson would like her, Lianne and Roald would respect her. Thayine reminds Liam of Shinko, a little bit, only more open and with a more visceral understanding of combat.

 

            In short, Liam is in love with Thayine. And Liam wants to marry her. And, even accounting for Liam’s lover’s exaggeration, Thayet thinks that Coram and Rispah’s daughter might be the perfect wife for Liam. Thayine seems capable of organisation, she understands the combat that has marked Liam, and most of all she loves Liam. Thayet grants that it would be bizarre, having a daughter-in-law who was partly named after her, but then again there’s no kind of blood relationship and it was only a flattering sign of Coram and Rispah’s admiration, and Thayet could bear that for Liam’s sake if Thayet thought it was possible for the pair to marry. Unfortunately, she knows it isn’t.

 

            Liam is looking at her, burning like a candle, steady and confident of her approval. Thayet gives it.

 

            “She sounds perfect, Liam,” she says slowly, softly, wistfully, and knows that Liam will pick up on her tone.

 

            The smile falls off Liam’s face. “But...?” he says, and he’s off again, because he’s learnt from Lianne and Alan’s battles and knows he must provide reasoning. Thayine would be an important link with Tortall, considering that two of his older siblings are married to foreign allies. The marriage would cement the Trebond link to the royal family, and Trebond is one of the greatest noble houses of the nation even if the bloodline has changed. After the upheaval with Scanra it’s important to tie the north to Tortall more closely than ever, they can’t afford rebellion within their borders in the state they’re in.

 

            Both Liam and Thayet know it isn’t enough, and Liam trails off, a flicker of something that might be despair passing across his face.

 

            “You aren’t betrothed,” Thayet tells him, quietly and with certainty.

 

            Liam shakes his head, and absently drinks from his own cup of tea, which must be cold. “No. I didn’t want...” He sighs, short and pained and angry. “I knew this would happen. I knew we had no chance.” He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth. “She knows I love her, anyway. She knows nothing will change that.”

 

            “You told her?”

 

            “She doesn’t need my words,” Liam says, with affection. He glances at her, hard, ready to bargain now, like her, fighting her way out of Sarain when her mother’s body wasn’t even cold, suppressing grief. “I won’t accept a marriage until I know Thayine’s safe, Mother. Not until she’s provided for. I can’t leave with a whole heart or even half a one if her future isn’t secure.”

 

            Thayet thinks about this and nods. She’s heard less reasonable conditions. “Provided you don’t make her your mistress, Liam.”  


            “ _Mother_!” Liam bolts forward in his chair, and Thayet suddenly realises that she hasn’t heard him raise his voice for a good six years. “I couldn’t do that to her! Much as I want her. I couldn’t!”

 

            “I know, I know,” Thayet says, trying to calm him. “I know. She’s different, isn’t she? What you feel for her is different to the girls before.”

 

            “I didn’t know you knew about them,” Liam observes, and she gives him a disbelieving look. He grins. “All right, fine. But I treated them with honour, too. I always made sure they were secure. They weren’t like Thayine, I never would’ve married them, but still.”  


            Thayet nods, and there’s a very long silence, in which Thayet desperately wishes she could let Liam have his love. But she _can’t_. Liam is right when he assumes he’ll have to leave; Lianne is married, Jasson as the youngest, least dynastically threatening son will be Roald’s Tortallan sword arm, and Liam and Vania are destined for foreign matches. The very thought is like fragments of glass in her veins, making their slow but sure way towards her heart. Thayet has never wanted to give up her children.

 

            Liam’s head falls back against his chair with a frustrated sigh. “Lianne got Alan,” he says to the ceiling.

 

            Thayet shuts her eyes on her tears. “Alan will be the Voice of the Tribes when your father dies, and all the Bazhir, even those who dislike Tortallan rule, accept him. He’ll be vital to the running of this country one day, and if he’s not Champion in the future I’ll be deeply surprised. Besides, through Aly he provides an important connection to the ruling élite of the Copper Isles, and through Alanna he’s connected to the old nobility. He has a lot of respect from men like Wyldon of Cavall and Gerhard of Irimor, despite their opinions on his parents.”

 

            “I know,” Liam says, pain in every word, and together they fall silent and sit quietly, anguish going unspoken but still mutually understood.

 

            The tea gets cold and stews. The sun slips out of the sky, and leaves them in woodsmoke-tinged dimness; Liam has evidently instructed that they be left alone. He’s a good boy, an honourable boy, a loving boy, a resilient boy, he’s a man who’s just lost his best chance at love and he takes much too much after his mother.       

 

            “I’m so sorry,” Thayet tells him at last, “so sorry,” and she gets out of her chair to hug him, and he puts his arms around her and rests his face against her shoulder, like he did when he was little and wanted a moment or two of comfort.

 

            “I’ll be all right,” he replies eventually. “You heard me out, at least.”

 

            She tweaks his nose. “Your father wouldn’t have – he isn’t strong enough to deny you what you want after you’ve told him why you want it.”

 

            “He’s a coward like that,” Liam says evenly.

 

            Because he’s her son and he thinks the way she does, she meets his eyes. “Yes, he is. And you... Oh, Liam. I’m so sorry. You’re just like me.”


End file.
